It’s Supposed to Be Chaos, Not Pinterest

Somewhere along the way, parenting became aesthetic.

Soft lighting. Neutral tones. Calm children playing quietly with wooden toys while their parents sip coffee that is somehow still hot.

That version of parenting has never visited my house.

My house is loud. It’s messy. Someone is always asking for a snack while I’m mid-sentence. Shoes appear in places that defy physics. Emotions arrive unannounced and at full volume. Some days feel like a carefully orchestrated dance. Other days feel like survival with snacks.

One afternoon, I stood in the kitchen with a bench covered in half-finished lunches, someone crying in the background, and a to-do list buzzing in my head. I remember thinking, surely it is not meant to feel this chaotic if I am doing it right.

For a long time, I thought the chaos meant I was failing.

I would scroll past perfect photos and “gentle parenting wins” and wonder why my life did not look like that. Why I felt tired even when I was doing everything “right.” Why my patience ran out faster than my love, and why that guilt sat so heavily in my chest.

Then one day it clicked. It is supposed to be chaos.

Not because parenting is careless or unimportant, but because it is alive. Because it is full of people, not pictures. Because real children do not exist to match a colour palette or a schedule that never bends.

The chaos is not a failure. It is evidence of care.

And that is the part no one tells you. It hurts because you care.

You care when you lie awake replaying something you said. You care when you wonder if you handled that meltdown “right.” You care when you worry you are not patient enough, calm enough, present enough. You care when you are exhausted and still show up again tomorrow.

If you did not care, it would not hurt at all.

The doubt is uncomfortable, but it is not a sign you are failing. It is a sign you are invested. Parenting does not come with certainty. It comes with constant recalibration. You learn. You adjust. You apologise. You try again.

And here is the truth that saved me on the days I felt like I was getting everything wrong.

The fact that you are questioning whether you are a good parent usually means you are one.

Bad parents do not stop to reflect. They do not worry about impact. They do not lie awake hoping they did enough. Good parents do, because love makes you attentive, and attentiveness makes you vulnerable.

Pinterest does not show that part. It does not show the internal tug-of-war between wanting to be everything for your kids and still wanting to exist as yourself. It does not show the invisible labour, the emotional load, the thousand tiny decisions made every day.

So if your house is loud, if your life is messy, if your parenting does not photograph well, that does not mean you are failing.

It means you are in it.

It means you are raising real humans, not curating a feed.

And one day, long after the noise fades, you will not remember the mess. You will remember the caring. The trying. The showing up.

Chaos and all.

• Meagan